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Best Stories on the Web
All genres, all writers, all here.

Here, on Short-Story.me we publish only the highest quality stories from great writers around the world. To have work published on Short-Story.me is testament to the finest writing ability. Once published, we share your success with others and give good writing, great publicity. The site receives in excess of 300,000 page views per month and is the number one site on search engines for various genres.

We have a category for everyone. So why not sharpen your skills, your pencil and your wits and commit that story to paper? Give our followers what they want to read and get your name in front of thousands of readers every week.

Best of luck in your writing endeavors.

 
 

Eight Seconds

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I have 8 seconds to live.

When I reached out you didn't reach back

With each second that remains I'll tell you of what I am and how I ended up here.

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The Deadliest Sin

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The question was, go for the Nobel or just get unbelievably rich? If you are, or ever were, a research scientist, the answer would be obvious – go for the money.

My discovery was completely serendipitous. I was working as a post-doc in the metamaterials lab, but made a bit of cash on the side helping out the quantum computing guys in the laboratory next door.

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How Good is Your Gay-Dar?

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The life of Ralston Amicous was the talk of the nation. But he was now dead and he didn’t give a shit anyway. Imagine, Hugh Hefner dying on the same day, September 28th 2017. Similar to John Addams and Thomas Jefferson dying on the same day, July 4th 1826.

It is all in the marvels of destiny.

Hef and Ami, two individuals who used the same medium to institute two distinct cultural shifts in sexual attitudes.

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The Irish Santa

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Mike Feeney threw a lighted match into the rusted half-barrel of firewood he had scrounged from nearby abandoned buildings and watched as the flames grew. He settled beneath the concrete bridge that had become home, and tightened a tattered blanket around his emaciated frame. He knew the fire would attract other hapless vagrants, but he didn’t mind. Numbers brought safety, company and conversation. They could share a bottle of whiskey or the stale bread he had pulled from a dumpster earlier that day.

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The Leap

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She stands, contemplating her surroundings. The breeze dies down, the traffic diminishes, not even animals stir. Such calmness outlines her. She stands with the rail harassing her back. She leans away from it, alleviating the profound pressure of that railing. She stands, head high, eyes open. As she stands, she conjures up the moments leading her here.

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Volatile Chemicals

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Primo and I sat facing Mario and Dante in Mario’s office. Between us lay a table with a shoebox on it.

“Dante’s got another job for you two,” Mario said. “You work so well together, beauty and the beast.”

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The Man Who Hated Pickles

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The lunch crowd was just starting to die out around the time Marty entered the dingy old diner. No doubt the dive had seen better days, probably before Sputnik caused millions of Russkies to raise a toast to the skies. The joint smelled of greasy burgers and body odor, and the Box Tops were warbling “The Letter” out of small distorted speakers strategically placed around the establishment.

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Illegal Frequencies

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Their mission was to find those dark and dingy “Dive Bars” to meet the neighborhood elders. They sought those original Brooklynites who held the oral history of their newly adopted neighborhood. That’s where they found Mickey McDougall. He was a long time neighborhood resident alcoholic and former playwright. The perfect person to spin the tale of “Illegal Frequencies” for the two metrosexual urban homesteaders.

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